A canticle for Kathleen Sullivan A Ramblin' Gamblin' Willie story by Greg Swann I got to the hospital after visiting hours, but the nurse led me to the room anyway. "There hasn't been anyone," she confided. I pursed my lips in grim acknowledgement. "That's why I'm here." Inside the room the patient looked like purple death. It was a critical-care room, bright and white and cheerfully clinical. The bed was surrounded by apparatus, with lines and leads and probes and IV tubes running to him. The only unbruised part of him that I could see were his eyes, and his eyes...